With a little help from my friends
by SheyRicci
Summary: Vic had ONE job!
1. Chapter 1

So, wrote this sitting, waiting, at the court house, dreading I'd be called for jury duty.

It's a shorter one.

* * *

Clay emerged from his cocoon, moppy-headed and bleary eyed. Blankets still over his head, he slapped a hand out and about, inching on his belly across the mattress closer to the night stand until his fingers fumbled his phone to the floor.

Eh, fuck it.

"Just a text." Rebecca's soft voice barely penetrated his clogged ears, but he understood the word text, managed to unlock the phone and slurred permission to read it to him. "Okay, well," she hedged. "Apparently, you're supposed to be at a party at Metal's mountain cabin."

"Not…" he swallowed, throat raw, "….going."

Rebecca nodded, she didn't think he should go either and replied to the text. She got an immediate response.

"Not acceptable." She read to Clay who flipped off the phone with a grunt. "Shall I say you're sick?"

"Tell 'em, I'm dead…"

She typed and sent and got an answer. "It's not an invitation, it's an order." She frowned, well, that was rude. "Well then, where is it?"

"Dunno." Talking made him cough. "Scroll….address is there…" He rubbed his chest, held his throat. "You say I'm…dead?"

"Of course not." She thumbed through previous texts until she found the address then pulled up travel-math. "It's over an hour away. Almost two." She sighed. It was the opposite direction from which she needed to go. "You can't drive that far. You just took Nyquil and you're probably running a fever."

"I'm not going." But he was stirring, drawing his knees up as he rolled and twisted. "Uber." Probably? Trent would have known, because he would have taken Clay's temperature by now. Hell, all she had to do was feel his forehead, he was burning up.

"I suppose I could delay my return to D.C." She offered lamely, without enthusiasm. "Drive you to…"

"No." He was sitting on one hip, feet curled beneath his ass in the middle of the bed, hand in his hair. "Hot in here."

"Yes," she agreed but didn't offer to get him a wet cloth for his forehead or a glass of water with some Tylenol.

She knew she should get him up, call him a cab or Uber and make sure he got on his way, but instead, she sent a text and set the phone aside. Whatever the reply was, he could deal with it. She had to leave to return home, she'd delayed as long as she could to take care of Clay who likely had the flu. He should see a doctor, but he'd have to make the appointment on his own, she'd be back in D.C.

"Well then, okay." She patted his shoulder. "If you're sure you're going to be okay, I'll be on my way."

Clay, still sitting twisted in the sheets in the middle of his bed, merely blinked. Wait, what? She was leaving?

"I'll give you a call when I get home, let you know I got in okay." She was at the door. "I'd give you a kiss good-bye, but no offense, I don't want to catch what you have. So, see you next weekend."

"Right." He rasped, but he was speaking to an empty room. She was gone. He slowly laid down; couldn't remember why he was sitting up. "Uh, okay."

His ringing phone woke him sometime later. He ignored it, but as soon as it quit singing CCR's Bad Moon Rising, it started again. Cursing, he hit answer – Rebecca had left the phone on the bed right next to his head – muttered some kind of response.

"Spenser, the only thing you better say is, you're on your way." Jason barked irritably. "You're expected to be here."

"I don't…"

"I better lay eyes on you by 8."

Clay sighed, dropped the phone. When he sat up, he got dizzy and the room spun sickeningly so driving was out of the question. He couldn't possibly see which two lines to remain between but who would be willing to drive him nearly two hours away? His teammates had already departed and no one was going to turn around to come back and get him. Wives, fiancées and girlfriends were invited, but Rebecca was on her way back to D.C, so she wasn't an option.

He crawled out of bed, went to the bathroom, washed his face, sat down on the side of the tub. His hand, holding his 10-pound bangs off his forehead, felt hot against his skin. God, his hair felt so heavy, it made his head ache. He briefly thought about adopting a crewcut, dismissed the idea as too difficult. He simply wasn't capable of finding, holding and maneuvering a shaver.

He should call Jason back, say he was sick. His boss would then tell him if he were too sick to attend the party, he could take himself off to the base hospital. It was what he should do. But when did he ever do what he should, or what made sense?

He wet a wash cloth with cold water, held it to his forehead, returned to the bedroom, found the phone, pulled up a number, hit send.

"Hello?"

"Hey." He said huskily. "I, uh, need….." He had a coughing fit. "Hey dad." Man, breathing _in_ hurt. Breathing _out_ made him cough.

"Not sounding so good there, son."

"Yeah." He rasped hoarsely. "Not…feelin' it either." He padded barefoot out to the kitchen, cloth on the back of his neck. He opened the freezer, took out a bag of frozen peas, held it to his forehead. The shock of the cold against his hot skin was too much and he was on his knees, gasping for his breath that had suddenly deserted him.

Ash waited, Clay rarely called him and never to just say hi. It was the middle of the afternoon, so he didn't want to have a drink. The boy was obviously ill, perhaps he was calling for someone to take care of him, though he seriously doubted it. Ash wasn't the best father, hell, not even a good father, but he was trying to get to know the man his son had become.

"Clay?" He said for the third time. "Clay? Hey, you still with me?"

Coughing fit finally subdued, he was sitting on the floor, bag of cold peas on his crotch. He made a face, tossed it aside. The hell?

"Bravo's having a….." he sighed, coughed, knee-walked his way over to the counter, somehow used it to support his weight and get to his feet. He drank some cough syrup with codeine, the only thing capable of dousing the fire in his throat and easing the tightness in his chest. "You, uh, busy? I need to get to….I need a ride."

"Doctor's office, I hope."

"Uh, no." He winced, palm against his chest, pressed. Could adults get the croup? "Metal's cabin, out Blue Ridge….I don't think I should….can…drive…."

Ash mentally searched through everyone he knew…there was an old buddy in Roanoke he could crash with for the night.

"I'll pick you up in thirty minutes."

"Thanks, uh….dad."

Ash was there in twenty, knocked on the door, waited, knocked again. He didn't hear any movement inside, pounded impatiently.

"CLAY!" He called, more than slightly annoyed. If that little sonofabitch – and he was, Ash knew the boy's mother – had split before he'd arrived, just see what kind of response he'd get, he ever called his old man again. "CLAY?!" He pounded for the last time, threw his hands up and walked down the hall towards the elevator. "Shit." He patted his pocket, he had a key, he should let himself in, take a look around. Clay didn't have a habit of just calling him and pulling a lame ass joke.

Clay was just coming out of the bedroom, one hand holding his head, the other the wall, when Ash opened the door, stepped inside the apartment.

"How many times you been told, if you're home, put the chain lock on." Ash greeted, eye brows rising once he got a good look at his son. What the hell was Hayes thinking, making the boy go out when he was obviously sick. "You can't go dressed like that." He grinned. Clay wore sweat pants and a long-sleeved Henley shirt. "You need a shower, hot as you can stand it, use some shampoo." He moved through the room to the kitchen counter, looked through the bottles of medications. "Codeine?" He read the label that, while it said what the bottle contained, did not have Clay's name.

"Huh? Uh, oh…yeah."

"What'd you take with it?"

"Dunno." He didn't move. "What'r you doin' here?"

Ash looked up in surprise. "You called me."

Clay dropped his hand from his hair, rubbed his chest with his palm, eyes wide. "Don't think I did."

"You asked for a ride." Ash frowned. The flushed face, red cheeks, glassy eyes. Kid was running a fever. "I'd ask, you have the flu, but not with that cough."

"A ride…?..oh." He turned his head, coughed into the crook of his arm. "Right, I gotta….uh….go."

"Yeah." Ash reached out, gently took Clay by an elbow, turned him in the direction of the bathroom. "You make it through a shower, get all the shampoo outta your hair, manage to get dressed, I'll drive you."

"You will?" Clay coughed, winced when he tried to swallow. "Where?"

"I'll heat some tea, you got Tylenol? Anything for a fever?" Ash was opening cupboard doors. "Where's the tea? Since I'm boiling water, I'll heat enough, you can hold a towel over your head, put your face over the bowl, breathe steam. Sound like a plan? Make a hot toddy, you can drink on the way. I'm sure you have rum. Spices keep a while you know, stock up, my boy. You have a thermos?"

There. That. That was what he'd expected Rebecca to do for him.

"Uh….'k."

"You cough that shit up, spit it out." Ash grimaced, headed for the bathroom. As addled as Clay appeared, Ash thought it best if he were the one to adjust the water temperature.

***000***

Clay slept most of the drive to Metal's mountain cabin. Ash had found the address on Clay's phone after he'd coaxed the kid into unlocking it, in a text message from Metal and plugged it into his GPS. The longer they drove, the more convinced he became that Clay should be home in bed, on prescribed antibiotics.

He'd asked and received a muddled answer about why Clay insisted on going and not calling in sick. He hadn't pushed. Clay was a stubborn ass and once his mind was made up and set on a direction, it rarely changed. He didn't think much of Jason Hayes – correction, he couldn't stand the asshole, but Hayes was neither a stupid nor a cruel man. He would have excused Clay from this…this…whatever the hell 'this' was, if Clay had simply told the man he was I-should-see-a-doctor sick.

Clay had finished the hot toddy in the thermos and had been asleep since. Ash had expected it, it's why he had taken the time to make it. He hadn't wanted to spend nearly two hours in a car listening to Clay cough up a lung and spit it out a window. Was he a good father? No. Had he rubbed too much blackberry brandy on the kid's gums when he was teething so he would just go to sleep? Hell, yes. Maybe he hadn't been around all that much when Clay was growing up, but Ash knew hot tea toddy's laced heavily with rum, knocked him on his ass. Had ever since the kid had been, like, three.

Of course, as he had grown up, more rum had been necessary. Many people believed in expensive over-the-counter medications, but not Ash. Nope. Not when rum or whiskey worked just as well.

Ash turned off the main road, drove nearly 2 miles on what looked like a private driveway, pulled up in front of the largest mountain cabin he'd ever laid eyes on this side of the Mississippi. Wow.

The entire house had a light on in every window. Lights lit up the back yard, the front yard, the covered pool, the garage, the designated smoking area. By the amount of cars neatly parked in rows on a patch of grass next to a detached barn, it was a well-attended party.

"Clay? Wake up, we're here." Ash waited, car running outside Metal's door for Clay to wake up enough to understand they were at their destination and it was time to get out of the car and go inside, join his teammates. The driveway looped around and he was idling under a portico. "You sure you wanna go in? I'm crashing at a buddy's; he'll have room for two."

"Huh?" Clay dug as his crusted-closed eyes with the knuckles on his point fingers. "W'at?"

"We're here." Ash considered calling Jason, didn't have his number but he could get it from Clay. Wondered if the man would take a call from him. Maybe he should just take Clay's phone, call…. "Whoa,"

Clay had opened the door, was in the process of releasing his seat belt, bumbled his way out of the car.

"Maybe you should just come with me." Ash put the car in park, reached across the seat to snag Clay's jacket, pull him back in the car but he resisted. "Zip your jacket, put your hood up." Ash sighed, let him go. "Go straight inside, go lie down somewhere, you hear?"

Clay patted his pockets, felt the bottles of medication, nodded, closed the door. Ash waited until the front door opened and Clay was hugged and pulled inside by a blonde, then drove away.

()

"Jesus Clay," Jason frowned, met Clay in the kitchen when he received the text Clay was there. "You sound like shit. Shudda said you were sick."

"Thought…I…did."

"Keys in the bowl." He was handed a beer from some faceless person who then pointed to the bowl on the counter that held many sets of keys.

"You taking anything for that cough?"

"Uh, yeah."

"You seen Doc?"

"No. I didn't….Uh Jay…where's Tre…." Clay began, coughed.

"Vic! My man!" Jason snagged a passing Vic by the collar, stopped his progress, dragged him close. "Got a job for you. Keep an eye on Spenser here, okay?" Clay accepted a paper towel, spat into it, balled it up, threw it away. Jason gave him a look, oh, he'd be seeing Doc come morning.

"Do what?" Vic was bewildered. They were at a house party, just what did Jason think Clay could get up to?

"Vic?" Jason's tone stopped the team rookie in his tracks. "You _watch_ him. You gettin' me?"

"Yeah, yeah. I heard you."

"Keep him with you, don't let him out of your sight." He squeezed Vic's collarbone cruelly, hard enough to hurt. "He has a habit of disappearing right in front of your eyes." He eyed Clay who was rolling the cold bottle of beer across his forehead, thought maybe Vic wasn't up to the job of babysitting Clay. "Clay, what'd you take?" Vic was a highly trained, highly skilled Tier One Operative. Babysitting shouldn't be any problem for him.

"Uh….Tylenol." Clay squinted. "Nyquil…..I dunno….yeah, cough syrup."

Jason had had just enough to drink, that his own thinking was muddled and slow to keep up. Had he had three, maybe four beers less, it would have occurred to him Nyquil and cough syrup were two different medications, not one. But he hadn't, so it didn't.

"He's medicated." Jason told a very confused Vic. "Don't you dare lose him." He warned. "You do, you're treading water 'til the Coast Guard finds you." He gave his newest teammate a smart slap on the back of his neck, went on his way.

Vic blew the warning off, alcohol influenced mind discounting it as nonsense.

Clay snagged a box of tissues from the kitchen counter, exchanged the beer for another even though he hadn't taken a drink, tried to mingle and enjoy the party, but it wasn't happening. Within half an hour, his head was killing him, the noise and activity drove him to seek solitude in the bathroom until someone pounded on the door, told him his time was up and ordered him out. He should have just crawled into the tub, pulled the curtain and gone to sleep. As drunk as everyone was, no one would have even known he was there.

He hadn't been able to shake the effects of the rum-laced toddy and his movements were slow and uncoordinated. Good God, he wanted to go to sleep.

"Pam?" Clay sought out Metal's long-time girlfriend. Or wife. He didn't think they were married. Who really knew? He'd asked Metal three times for a quiet place he could go to and had first been ignored, then told to find the library, and finally to go away and find Pam.

"Hey, hi there! You made it!" She greeted cheerily, moved to hug him, no recollection whatsoever of having been the one to greet him and let him in the house. "Eggnog? Rum if you rather."

Eggnog? No. Oh, God no.

"Uh, hey…is there…somewhere….I mean….Metal said to ask….." He rubbed his eyes. "Is there somewhere I can lie down?"

Half way lit to Sunday, she managed not to giggle at the request, grappled to pull her happy thoughts into focus, eyed her houseguest as she swayed a bit, became distracted when the wine in her over-sized glass sloshed against the sides.

"Oops!" She giggled. "Oopsie-whoopsie."

Clay sighed, and this is why he hadn't wanted to come. His eyes were dry, his ears stuffed with cotton, his head was being squeezed like a kid too scared to pop the balloon and everyone around him was tipsy and happy and celebrating and all he wanted was a dark, quiet room so he could lie down, stop fighting the effects of Nyquil and too much rum, go to sleep.

"Hey there, hi." A woman Clay didn't know appeared beside Pam. "I'm Paula, Pam's sister." She introduced herself. "I have the role of sober chaperone tonight." She waggled a bottle of water, paused when Clay coughed over what she'd been saying. "Cough sounds nasty." She waited until Clay became quiet, hand to his chest. "You said you wanted to lie down? Good idea, I've got him Pam, run along and tell Metal I'm putting him in your room."

"You do?" Pam wiggled her fingers, "Okee-doe-kee. Buh-bye." and toddled off down the hall.

"And, you are?" Paula asked Clay as she led him down a hall, through a door, across a room, into a closest and up a back staircase he hadn't seen at all that night. "Few more steps. Sorry for the dim light."

"Um…Ca… He stumbled, caught his weight by placing both palms on the step a couple up from where he'd tried to put his foot. "Clay."

"Thinking maybe you should have stayed home tonight." She looked him up and down, decided that despite his unsteadiness, he was fit and fine and someone who knew Metal, worked with him.

"Wanted to." Clay reached the top step, slumped against the wall. "Ordered here."

"By the looks of you, you run with Metal?"

"Um….yeah. This's his party."

"Make yourself comfortable." Paula led Clay to a room where a fire licked greedily at fresh logs, the cackling as welcoming as the warmth and he swayed, his body's demands for rest more than he could resist. He lingered in the doorway, gazed longingly at the bed with the plaid comforter, numerous pillows, an afghan at the foot of the mattress. "Come on in."

"Quiet." He hesitantly sat down on the bed. "Thanks." He was chilled, achy, woozy. He wanted to lie down, pull the blankets over his head, shut the door and forget where he was. He shivered, raised goose bumps. Hell, maybe he should snag a pillow, the fluffy comforter and curl up on the floor in front of the fire.

He never should have left home.

"This room, the entire wing, is off limits to the party. You won't be disturbed. You have everything you need?" Paula looked around, didn't see any bottles or medication. "Maybe you'll feel better after a nap."

"I'd feel better in my own bed." Clay muttered, toed off his boots without untying the laces, just sat.

"Ordered here, you said?" She stoked the fire, added a log. "You have a phone? Medicine?"

"Nyquil." He pulled a bottle from his back pocket. "Cough syrup." A bottle appeared from another pocket. "Don't like to take it much. Knocks me out."

"Did you come with someone?" She picked up the bottle of syrup. "You didn't drive out here yourself, did you?"

"Uh, no."

Even without the familiar label, she knew it was prescription cough syrup. That meant it had codeine. She didn't know anything more about medications than the normal person, but even so, she knew you weren't supposed to guzzle from the bottle and there was no measuring cap, so she set it on top the highboy dresser. If he wanted it, he'd have to get out of bed to get it.

"No, you came alone?" She came out of the bathroom with a paper cup of water. "You didn't drive, did you?"

"I got a ride." Clay accepted the water, drank it. "Thanks."

"Sucks being sick, huh? You really shouldn't mix medications." She shook out a thick, fluffy blanket, waited for him to lie down on top of the comforter, tossed the blanket over him. "Bathroom's right there. I'll leave a cup of water on the night stand, bring you some juice in a little bit, some ice so you have cold water as it melts. You have a cell?"

"Sober chaperone?" Clay repeated sleepily, snuggled deeper into the depths of the bed. Would he finally feel warm before he fell asleep? He stirred, patted his pockets until he found the phone, handed it to her.

"No matter who you are, how old you are, where you are, someone should always be selected to remain sober." She made sure the blanket covered all of him. "This isn't my party, so I volunteered."

She was quite sure, had the man in Metal's bed not been running a fever and been over medicated, he never would have just handed her his phone. He was Navy, ran with Metal. That meant his job was secretive and his phone likely held information she shouldn't have access to. It was locked but showed it was on vibrate and with only 20 percent battery left. She set it on the bed next to the pillow.

"Anything else I can get you?" She asked. He was shivering so she unfolded the afghan, spread it over him.

"Uh, maybe...would you mind..." Made sense, though Clay didn't know what kind of trouble to expect at a house party attended by teammates and their better halves. "A cold cloth? My head's...hot." The thought that he should ask where he was crossed his mind, but he couldn't put it into words.

"Certainly." She entered the bathroom, wet a washcloth with cold water, wrung it out. She didn't offer it to Clay, simply folded it longways, laid it on his forehead, pressed firmly.

He groaned at the welcoming coolness, relaxed slightly.

"I'll be back to check on you shortly."

"Thanks." He shifted, brought the blanket up to his ears, snuggled deeper within its comfort. He should call someone or have this lady tell someone where to find him, but the pull of the medication and the warmth of the room were too much. Lulled by the fire, he was asleep before she stepped from the room.

()

"Hey, you seen Clay?" Vic asked anyone and everyone. "Yay-high? Blonde? Curls?"

He was met with blank stares from the men, giggles and ooh-la-la's from the ladies. Someone had seen him in the bathroom, another the kitchen, another the basement. Someone said he went outside, was with a woman, hadn't shown up.

Vic sighed, now convinced not one sober person remained at the party, himself included, and that Clay was gone. Clay had been there, he'd seen him, touched him, spoken to him. Jason had laughed, patted Vic on the head and told him his job that evening was to babysit Clay. Clay Spenser. The blonde-haired, blue-eyed, yay-high man he couldn't find.

He'd been with Clay since Jason had left them in the kitchen. He'd stopped to help balance a tray of Hors D'oeuvres and hadn't seen Clay again. He'd wandered from room to room, convinced he'd see Clay talking or socializing with some woman or another, but nope. Had yet to lay eyes on him.

"Metal, hey man." Vic caught the q-ball before it hit the pocket. "Metal. Met…Hey! Metal!"

"Doooo-oood!" Metal exclaimed. "I'd'da sunk that ball!"

"It would have been a scratch." Vic said impatiently. "Hey, you seen Clay?"

"Why?" Metal snickered, lined up his next shot. "Lemme guess," he chalked his cue. "You lost him."

"No." Vic squirmed. "What do you mean by that?"

"Can't find him, can ya?" Metal chortled. "HAHAHAHA!"

"Man, come on, help me out here."

"Kid," Metal tapped him on the nose with the cue stick. "We've lost him in places I'd blush telling you about."

"Rumors say, one minute you're holding his hand, the next…poof, he's just gone." One of the men playing pool with Metal commented. "Ain't that right, Metal?"

Metal nodded. "Hell, you blink and you can't find him no more."

"Check the library." Said another someone from somewhere. "He likes to read."

Vic didn't move, hands on his hips, waited. This house had its own library?

"Where the hell is that?" He exploded when no one said anything else, like where the fucking library was.

Jesus, he was going to die.

Vic knew, hell, everyone knew, Clay hadn't warmed up to him yet, didn't even like him, but he thought it rather childish and immature to pull such a dick move and play hide and seek. His mind churned. Weren't childish and immature synonyms? He smacked his forehead. What the hell did it matter? He was about to be murdered by his boss – a man who knew how to kill you and make it hurt – and he was worried about freaking words?

"Down the hall." Four cue sticks pointed in four different directions. "Go left."

"Right."

"Up the stairs."

"Through the door."

Vic cursed, stomped off.

"Something you need to worry about?"

"Nah." Metal took another drink, paused, shook it off, sank the 7 ball. "Who's up?" No way could they lose Clay in his own fucking house.

Vic finally found the library, but he didn't find Clay. He opened yet another the door to a bathroom, this one in shades of pink, shook his head. He'd seen a blue one, a green one, one in beige, one with yellow ducks in different colored raincoats, and now this one. It was then he realized, this was no mountain cabin, it was a freaking mansion with more rooms and hallways and doors than he could count.

Sheesh!

He'd asked everyone, searched everywhere, called and texted Clay's phone until his own went dead.

It was time to panic.

He went to Metal first, told him he couldn't find Clay. Metal blew him off until the men he was playing pool with paid Vic attention and started asking questions, then he put down his cue stick and helped Vic search.

They recruited Brock next.  
Then Trent.  
Ray.  
Sonny.  
The wives, fiancées and girlfriends.

It was decided not to disturb Jason.

The house was turned upside down, inside out. People were lined up and interrogated. Music was turned off, alcohol stopped flowing, the outside pavilion designated for smokers was invaded. A computer was requested and provided. Clay's phone was pinged, no response. Unknown to Bravo, Clay's phone had vibrated dead from so many calls from Vic. People started donning coats and hats, geared up to search cars, the closed pool house, the garage, the grounds, the woods, the lake.

Sonny went from amused, to annoyed, to scared within the span of maybe five minutes.

"One more time Vic, when did you last see him?"

"In the kitchen. You think he's dickin' with us?"

"He wouldn't do that."

"You sure?" Vic insisted. "He kinda seems like the kind of dude who'd think a prank like this would be…."

"Watch your mouth."

"Vic, listen to me." Ray said calmly, held his palms up to indicate he was calm. "Listen to me and think very carefully. When he got here, you said Jason greeted him."

"That's right."

"What exactly did Jason say to you?"

Vic tried to remember, tried to recall what Jason had said and why. "Uh….keep an eye on him, watch him, don't let him outta my sight."

"Don't listen very well, do you?"

"Look Sonny, I tried." Vic said hotly. "He was right beside me, I reached for a tray and….haven't seen him since."

"Hey Vic, talk to me." Ray recalled his attention. "Why did Jason tell you to do that?"

"Uh….'cause Clay had taken…was….medicated."

Ray called Jason.


	2. Chapter 2

Wanna know the worse thing about jury duty? (I wasn't chosen and requests for my services are safe for the next 3 years, woot!) You are not allowed to bring liquids into the courthouse and the pop machine – *gasp* – only had diet Pepsi!

* * *

"Your phone again? Natalie lifted her head from Jason's shoulder, reached for more popcorn. It had buzzed since the movie started. He'd checked it every time, but hadn't answered it once or returned any texts. Between that and so many people being in and out of the theatre room in the last thirty minutes, she'd completely lost the ability to follow the movie.

"Ray." Jason sighed, reached for the level on the side of his recliner-for-two, lowered the foot rest, pushed the blanket off his lap. "Wonder who did what now. Or Sonny's slurping jello shots outta someone's belly button again." He nudged and juggled her off his lap.

"Jason." Natalie scolded, moved so he could get up. "That is definitely not acceptable behavior."

"Or maybe he's just bustin' heads. I'll take care of it." He handed her his beer, stood up. "Be right back."

"That's not acceptable either!" She called after him, curled up in the chair with the bowl of popcorn, pulled the blanket over her legs. "Sorry!" She told the room, felt bad she'd spoken so loudly. Silence greeted her, no one said anything. She uncurled, went up on her toes in the chair, looked around. The room was dim, not dark and for the first time since the movie started, she realized she and Jason were completely alone in the room. "The hell?" She got up to follow him. "Wait for me!"

Jason headed for the kitchen, the call had dropped and he waited for his return call to Ray to connect. He found it odd the house was quiet, ablaze with light and the few people he saw, seemed to be searching in and under the furniture for something.

He poured himself a cup of black coffee, took a sip and the call to Ray connected. "What's up?" He reached for cubes of Colby jack cheese from a platter on the counter. "Fight? Unwanted attention? I gotta knock some heads together?"

"Hey Jay."

"Where are you? Hell, where's everyone? Thought there was a party going on."

"You still watching the movie?"

"Was, yeah, left Nat to step out, take your call."

"Yeah, say, uh Jay, Clay with you?"

Jason froze, sighed, gulped the contents of his mug, reached for the whole pot. "What'd he do?" That kid had given him nothing but attitude and grief all day.

"Went missing." Ray waited, said nothing more.

Jason drank a third cup of coffee. He didn't need it to sober up, he'd cut back on drinking when Clay had arrived and he began to doubt the wisdom of entrusting him to Vic, but the warmth felt good and it gave him something to do while he processed what he was hearing.

"Where are you? Where's everyone?"

"Searching. I'm at the lake."

Clay had responded to his text that he wasn't feeling good and hadn't wanted to come. Jason had ended up calling him and ordering him here. He'd arrived and Jason hadn't even bothered to ask him how he'd gotten there. His order had been obeyed and that had been all he'd been concerned with. He'd tasked Vic with keeping an eye on the kid and assumed everything was fine dandy.

He. Would. Never. Learn.

"You see his car?"

"No."

"Did he drive here?"

"Don't know."

"Who does?"

"He came alone, Rebecca wasn't with him."

"I know that!" Jason snapped. "Someone had to see him arrive." He reasoned. "Find that person. And Ray? Bring me Vic, I'm in the kitchen."

"Yeah," Ray slanted Vic a look who refused to meet his eye. "He's right here. On our way." He pocketed the phone. "Something you want to tell me on our way to face your boss?"

"Uh, no."

"Might wanna rethink that. He hates it when we lose Clay."

Vic stumbled a bit. "When you….you've...wait...what do you mean? Lose Clay? HEY!"

But Ray pulled his phone, sent a text, whistled, made the round up motion with his hand over his head. His phone chirped and he answered.

"Son, got a job for you, find who was greeting people as they arrived, take them to the kitchen, Jason's waiting."

()

Sonny finally located the blonde who had greeted Clay when he'd arrived and rang the doorbell – Pam.  
Metal got testy when Sonny's questioning crossed over into an interrogation.  
She thought maybe someone had dropped him off in a red car. Or minivan. Maybe an SUV. It was definitely red. Or black. She really didn't think it was white.  
Sonny's language was not acceptable for children.  
Pam teared up.  
Ray had to break Sonny and Metal apart.  
Brock was lit up because he hadn't brought Cerberus.  
Vic very nearly lost his teeth when he couldn't say when he'd last seen Clay.  
Trent manned the laptop, reported Clay's GPS signal showed he was home at his apartment.  
Everyone vowed the 'blonde menace' wouldn't sit comfortably for a week over leaving his watch home.  
Trent typed some more, opened another screen, did a search, came up with nothing.

"YOU HAD **_ONE_** JOB!" Jason slapped the counter. "Watch him! Keep an eye on him. How _hard_ is that?"

Vic was quiet, stood with his head down, took the verbal lashing.

"I'm telling you, if he drove here, we need to call the police, because in his condition, he drove someone off the road." Someone had the balls to venture, brought the wrath of Bravo One down on their head.

"Who the hell are you? Did I ask you? Shut up!" Jason cleared the counter of everything but the cheese. That he handed to Natalie. "Jesus Fucking Christ! It's a god-damn house party! How the _hell_ can we _not_ find him?"

The room went quiet.

"The hell Vic? I gave you an order! Don't let him out of your sight! What the hell do you think that means?" Jason ranted. "Means, you don't take your fucking eyes off him!"

"You were serious about that?" Vic asked incredulously. "Really? We're not at work..."

Both Ray and Brock stepped between Vic and Jason, halted their boss's advancement before he could wring Vic's neck.

Pam, now scared sober by the ranting bull in her kitchen, stepped behind Metal for protection. She didn't recall Clay asking her for someplace to lie down, but she had let him into the house, had seen the car that had dropped him off.

"OH!" She exclaimed, jumped up and down, clapped her hands. "It was a red, four door SUV. A man with shaggy hair was driving."

"Shaggy hair?"

"Who would drive him all the way out here?"

"Cab? Uber? Lyft?"

"This far? Doubtful."

Trent looked thoughtful, mentally sorted through the friends and acquaintances he knew Clay would call for help or a favor, frowned. He pulled his phone, made a call.

"Randy? Hey, sorry to bother you this time of night, I need help hacking. Need some information."

Ray raised his brows, stared at Jason who drank coffee. Since when had their medic become adept at hacking?

"Right….uh-uh…yep…there…right click, you say? Just want to check a name…..got it…thanks dude, catch ya at work Monday." He thumbed end, set the phone down. "Ash Spenser owns a maroon Dodge Durango."

"Clay's old man?" Sonny guffawed. "Drive him out here? Not buying it."

"He musta really felt like hell, call his dad for a ride." Brock commented, met Jason's stare, stood his ground. "What? Just sayin'"

"Call him!" Jason growled. "Find out." He slammed his mug onto the counter, pulled his phone. "Gimme his number, I'll call." Natalie swooped over his shoulder, swept the phone out of his hand. "Hey, don't..." He grappled for it back. "You don't get..."

"I got it." Ray said calmly, waved his boss off. They'd learn nothing if Jason attacked Ash on the phone. The man had his son's attitude, he'd just taunt them and hang up. "Trent, got his number?"

Trent did, read it out loud. It entered the contact list of more than one phone.

"Hello?" Ash answered his cell even though the number came up as unknown. His annoyance over driving Clay to the party had disappeared on the way. His son was obviously ill and once he'd seen him safely inside the house, had driven to his buddy's house where he intended to spend the night just in case he was needed. Maybe the kid would need a ride home or maybe he'd end up in a hospital. Ha, wouldn't that just stick up the high and mighty Hayes' ass! Ash was Clay's father, he'd have the legal say so at the hospital this time, not that prick Clay called boss.

Ash kinda hoped that was what the phone call was about. See Hayes throw him out of the hospital or deny him entry now.

"Hey Ash, Ray Perry here."

So, not Jason Hayes.

"What do you want?"

"Where you at?"

"Over near Roanoke. Too late to drive back home tonight."

"So, you did drive Clay here?"

"Checking up on him? Don't believe him?"

"Having a hard time believing you'd to it for him."

"Wow." Ash drawled sarcastically. "Asshole."

Ray sucked in a breath, supposed he had that coming. "Just wanted to make sure he didn't drive here. So, thanks for that, won't have to worry he put someone in a ditch."

"His car's kinda hard to miss, don't ya think?"

"So, yeah, thanks for driving him." Ray hung up. "He's not with Ash."

"You didn't ask." Naima pointed out.

"Didn't need to."

"You didn't tell him his son was missing either." She teased.

"You really want the man here?"

"He wouldn't come." Sonny pounced.

"Yeah, I think he would." Janine offered a smile, ducked the dish towel he playfully snapped at her. "What? Ash pass up an opportunity to piss you all off? Don't think so."

"Still doesn't solve the problem." Brock took milk from the fridge, added a splash to his coffee. "Where is he? He doesn't have a car, so where did he go?"

Kitchen became the command center.  
Trent manned the computer.  
Ray coordinated.  
Jason commanded.  
Everyone else resumed the search.

"Maybe he called a cab, went to a nearby hotel." Natalie suggested.

Immediately, Jason dismissed the suggestion with a barked no.

"Don't take my head off." She reprimanded, seeing a side of Jason she knew existed but hadn't experienced yet for herself. If he was this tense and serious merely over a missing teammate at a house party, she could imagine what he was like in the field, on a job, with danger and uncertainty all around. If one of his men had been taken in hostile territory by an enemy, she now knew, without a doubt, he would ruthlessly kill to get him back. "If he wasn't feeling well, he could have…" She began patiently, mentally kicked aside the rumors and stories everyone had delighted in regaling her with when they'd learned she was dating him.

"Ma'am, with all respect due the boss's lady," Sonny paused. "We don't leave without telling someone. We can't do that."

"Oh now Sonny, I'm sure he meant….."

"Not in our line of work Nat." Jason explained. "Not when we're together, not even if we're home."

"Right." She nodded. Leaving without telling your teammates would prompt them to do exactly what they were doing; do everything they could to find you. And if spun up and on a job, it meant life or death.

"He told someone."

"Who? We've questioned everyone."

"Can't believe he doesn't have his phone. Or watch."

"Bet he's wearing his tags."

"He ain't, he's going to wish he was. Oatmeal for a month."

"Fat lot of good that does us."

"Will, if he's found by someone or arrested."

"Arrested? More like taken to a hospital."

"Should we call the police?"

"What do we do?" Natalie asked, more to reign in the growing outlandish conversation and suggestions taking place, than to get a serious answer.

"Kill Vic." Sonny threatened darkly.

"And after that?" Natalie smiled sweetly. "Look, he can't be far. I don't understand the panic…"

"He was medicated." Jason said shortly, like that explained everything. And it did, to everyone except Natalie.

"I don't have the history with him you all do." She crossed her arms. "So, start explaining."

Jason waved her off, turned his back. He'd deal with her later. Natalie, beginning to understand the urge to want to strangle someone, remained calm. She was learning how to handle Jason Hayes...but Master Chief Bravo One? Well, now, that was going to take some work.

"You better hope we find him soon." He told Vic. "We don't, for every hour he's missing, you're treading water for a day, seven miles off the shore."

"And if he ain't okay, you can swim back, we ain't coming to get you." Brock headed out the back door.

"Wow." Naima smirked at Vic who flipped her off. "You managed to piss off Brock. Congratulations, not easily done."

Jason ordered everyone back out to search, sent Natalie off with Naima, Katie and Janine to search the house, gave permission for the other ladies to tell her what she wanted to know.

"Oh no, see they've 'lost' him so many times, Blackburn had to ask for funding for advanced military grade tracking..."

"He went out for beer once….."

"...Jason had to go get him from a corrupt prison warden."

"Fell into a snow covered ravine..."

"...Jason and Sonny had to drag him out of a frozen stream, keep him warm all night."

"There was the time he went out for a night on the town..."

"...Jason had to dig him out of a collapsed building."

"He and his girlfriend went away for the weekend..."

"...Jason had to find an orange cat and a black one."

"Oh but...but...Oh! The sultan!"

"...Jason had to go into a harem..." and the three burst into laughter, leaving Natalie to trail after them.

()

Paula returned home from her errand of buying chicken noodle soup and cold medication to find her house turned inside out. People darted and ran in and out of the house. Hell, she nearly ran two over and one dumb ass actually ran into her trunk! Doors remained open. Every outdoor like was on. The cover was off the pool and two men were dragging the water with poles. Flashlights bobbed among the cars. Locks chirped, doors and trunks opened and closed. Distant shouts came from the direction of the lake.

"Pam?" Paula entered the kitchen, set her bags on the counter. "Want to tell me what's going on?"

"Oh Paula!" Pam sobbed, threw herself into her old sister's arms who gave her a hug and patted her back. "It's the saddest thing! We lost Clay!"

Paula stopped patting, pulled back slightly. "What did you say?" She asked sharply. Good Lord! Had the poor man gone and died while she was out getting him soup?! She hadn't thought he was that sick! "PAM!?"

"Metal's teammate is missing!"

Paula blinked, slapped her sister. Not hard enough to leave a mark, but hard enough to render her tears dry. Now that she thought about it, an ambulance would be here. At least, she would have passed one leaving on her way back to the house. And the police. Maybe the coroner, or the medical examiner.

And hell, she hadn't been gone that long.

"You slapped me!" Pam said in a small voice, palm against her check. "You. Slapped. Me. I can't believe you just did that!"

"For Pete's sake Pam, the man asked you for a place to lie down!" Paula snapped, rolled her eyes. She hadn't even left a red mark on her sister's cheek. "I told you to let Metal know that I'd taken care of it." She knew better, but she'd done it anyway. She'd meant to find Metal herself, but when she'd returned with juice for Clay, he'd been groggy and disoriented and when she'd offered him something to eat, he'd asked for hot soup.

"What?" Pam turned to look at Metal, the slap forgotten, as if she had no idea who he was. "When?"

Paula dug deep for patience. She loved her sister, she did, but there were times she could cheerfully shake the woman until her teeth rattled. Pam was in fact an intelligent, well-educated woman, but once she consumed enough alcohol to become intoxicated, she was worthless. Hence Paula always remaining sober at parties like these.

Though, Paula acknowledged, she really had no right to criticize. She became the same way when she drank, which is why the sisters had a pact to always have someone remain sober at a house party. But then she looked at Metal and seethed.

"This is your party Pam, you're responsible for your guests." Paula pointed out, searched for a soup spoon. Having only party food in the house, not a can of soup had been found, so she'd taken herself off to a nearby diner to get some hot, homemade chicken noodle soup. "But you?" She addressed Metal. "What's your excuse? These are your teammates."

"He did!" Pam exclaimed. "You're right! He did! Metal, you told him to ask me!"

"Don't think I did."

"No, you did." Said one of his pool-playing buddies. "Couple times."

Sonny's fist shot out, clipped Metal on the chin. He retaliated, thumped Sonny in the gut.

"KNOCK IT OFF!" Jason ordered. Christ, he was going to knock heads together. Jesus Christ! "Who are you? You know where is he? Tell me, 'cause he's not in this house. We've torn it apart."

"Really Metal? You been drinking that raw absinthe ole man Cooter brews up there in those backwoods?" Paula whopped him with the same towel Sonny had playfully snapped at Janine. "You promised to stick to beer tonight."

"Where have you been?" Pam asked suddenly. "You're supposed to be here, keeping an eye on things." She pulled a pout. "This is all your fault!"

"I have been." Paula returned calmly. "I've been taking care of Metal's teammate. You know, the one who is 'missing'?" She made air quotes. "It didn't occur to you, where one of your guests, would go to lie down?" She paused, thought back. "Hell, I even told you were I was taking him."

"We checked the bed….." Metal went silent, paled, flushed, ducked his head. "Oh."

"Oh? That's it? Just oh?" Jason stalked him until he stumbled backwards into a wall. "What does that mean, Metal? Oh. Define oh."

"I didn't remember..." Metal scratched his jaw. "Forgot he asked...hell boss!"

"We have a wing that is for family only." Paula collected a bowel, cup of cold orange juice, bowl of ice, the bag of soup, the bag she'd brought from the drugstore. "Guess you forgot, huh Metal?"

"I just said I did!"

"Where?" Sonny demanded, hands on hips. "We searched this house. Every room."

"Hey now, wasn't my job to babysit him." Metal protested, pointed a finger directly at Vic. "It was his."

"Jesus, how big is this house." Vic muttered. "Wait…what? Babysit? Oh, come on now! We're at a party."

"Not an excuse." Jason said pointedly.

"Knew there had to be a reason the kid doesn't like you."

"Go sober up." Paula scolded Metal. "Your first thought should have been your room." She shook her head. "Missing. Lost. I'm surrounded by idiots."

"HEY!" Both Pam and Metal exclaimed.

"You. Are. Never. Drinking. Absinthe. Again." Jason told Metal, slapped him upside the back of his head. "That's like, what, 100 percent proof? Not even Sonny drinks that shit."

"I'm in my own home, boss." Metal's jaw clenched.

"And you protect this country, God help us. This way." Paula led the way across the kitchen, through a door, up three steps, into a butler's pantry and through another door. "Light's dim, watch your step."

Her parents owned the cabin and when they had decided to build an addition, they had done so as if it were a separate house. The only inside access was through a narrow, steep staircase accessible only through a closet off the kitchen. It was designed to remain hidden and unless you knew where it was, you wouldn't notice it.

"Trent." Jason beckoned, stilled everyone else with a palm up. "Ray?"

"Right, on it." Ray nodded; call off the search, round everyone up, send people home, he could do that. "Just, I'll wait 'til you text me you have eyes on him."

"Roger that."

"Hi, I'm Paula." She said as she climbed the dark, narrow staircase, followed by a perky brunette, the man called Trent and the man who gave orders with every expectation of being obeyed - and was. "Metal's sister-in-law."

"Janine." She poked Trent. "Married to this one." Trent grunted. "Trent," she supplied. "He's Bravo's medic."

"Bravo, eh?" She opened a door at the top of the stairs. "So, you would be?"

"Jason." He said shortly. "This is a fucked-up staircase."

"So, team leader, right? Boss?" He didn't respond to her teasing, so she let it go. "When you were searching the grounds, no one happened to notice the 2nd entrance to another house?" Paula grinned. "It was a wing added on after the original house was completed."

"It was dark." Jason muttered. He hadn't gone outside to search, but if Brock hadn't found it, it wasn't easily located. No, not fair to Brock. He was looking for his missing teammate, not mentally calculating square footage of a mountain mansion he'd never been to before.

"Wow, your powers of observation leave a lot to be desired, considering your job and all." Paula teased. "It's a vacation home. We often host parties and large groups of people we don't know well. But honestly, the outside entrance is designed to look like it is simply a rear entrance to the main house. Here," she stopped in front of a partially closed door. "Clay? Hey, you awake? Brought you soup." She paused, looked again at the bed. "Clay?" The blanket and afghan were in a heap on the bed, but there was no sign of Clay.

Jason felt his belly clench. Not again. Please God, this little joke of yours is getting old. Please, not another chapter of this already over-trodden book. If Clay had left the bedroom, there was no easy way to find him. They hadn't brought the dog. His phone was either off or dead. He wasn't wearing his watch.

"Wow." Janine looked around the room. "That's a real fireplace. I love it."

"Metal likes a cold bedroom." Paula explained. "So, he sleeps with the window open and Pam sleeps by the fire. The heat is turned off."

Useless information, Jason mused. Metal slept in mud. What did anyone care?

"Oh Trent, we have to try this."

Trent blew her off. "Ain't putting no damn wood stove in our bedroom." But he was teasing and she wasn't offended, gave him a kick in the ass. He slapped up and down the mound of blankets, searching for something solid underneath.

"Dumb ass, that's not a wood stove." She pointed down the hallway. "That door, right?" Paula nodded. "Sonny's gonna wanna come up here."

"Mmpphhff," went the mound.

"He'll listen to Ray." Trent went around the bed, took two handfuls of blankets, lifted them high. There he was! "Spense, you're gonna give me an ulcer."

"I'm gonna kill him." Jason stated, arms crossed over his chest in a defensive stance. "Can I kill him?"

"Hey," Janine patted his bicep. "He wasn't taken or kidnapped. No one is trying to buy him, steal him or keep him. He wasn't blown up, shot, stabbed, frozen, drowned, carried away in a mudslide, buried in a collapsed building or lost in the snow." She headed to the door. "And you didn't need GPS technology not available on the market or a highly trained dog to find him this time." With a jaunty salute, she left the room.

"Dunno why you put up with her." Jason groused.

Trent just grinned.

Paula blinked, managed to pull her mouth closed, look away. Well, that was quite the list indeed. She didn't know the details of Metal's job. She knew he was in the Navy and by conversations and references, she knew he was what was called 'special ops'. She didn't know exactly what that meant, but Google was her friend; elite, Tier One, tactical, special unit. He was on a team and these three men in the bedroom were his teammates.

No. Doubt. About. It.

She frowned as Trent roughly and without care, manhandled the man on the bed. He shook, smacked, slapped, pushed and pulled without thought. She had kids. Granted, it had been awhile since they'd been little kids, but even so, as adults, when they came home and were sick, she treated them gently, tenderly and with care.

But not these men.

Jason blew his breath out. He was going to have to get together with Blackburn, come up with yet another way to track this kid. It was time to start taking the talks of implanting a GPS chip in the little shit's arm seriously. How much did something like that cost anyway? Six figures? Seven?

"Mmppffhh."

Clay, alerted to the fact he was no longer alone by the absence of his warm blankets, was just blinking his eyes into awareness when he was grabbed by an ankle and an elbow on either side and with a smooth, timed, coordinated move, flipped, rolled and put flat onto his back. What would have been a yelp, had his chest not been congested, was instead a muffled groan.

"Wake up." Trent, the medic she recalled, ordered. He grabbed Clay's chin, gave his head a shake, tapped the back of his hand against a sweaty, red cheek. "Jesus Jace." He huffed. "Really?"

"Really what?" Jason shot back. "You got something to say? Spit it out."

"The hell is he doing here?" Trent smacked the other cheek.

Paula recoiled. Had that action had any more force behind it, it would have been a back-handed slap that would have likely left a bruise. Probably knock a woman off her feet.

"Feels hot." Jason commented, placed a hand on Clay's shoulder, told him to stay still.

"Fevers do that."

"How high?"

"High enough."

"He said he had a cold. Didn't say anything about a fever."

"Not a cold Jay."

"Flu?"

"Not with that cough." Trent mused. "Or maybe. He's wheezing."

"W't?" Clay stirred, shifted his weight onto his back, pushed at the hand holding him still. "Dn't."

"Who you talking to?" Jason gave him a smart slap atop his head. "Wake up."

"Feel achy? Muscles hurt?" Trent felt his palmed his forehead, slid fingertips behind his ears, along his jaw, down his neck, over this throat. "What'd you drink today?"

Clay merely looked up, licked his lips, flinched. He missed the warmth of the blankets and Trent's hands were cold.

"Hey, nun-nuh, you don't get to ignore me."

"Go 'way."

Now that he was awake and talking, he had to cough, couldn't stop.

"Sit up."


	3. Chapter 3

"…'ahght?"

"How much you had to drink today?"

"Uh….some rum, memmbe." He swallowed. "I think." He accepted a tissue from Paula. "Ow." Still on his back, he attempted to blow his nose, erupted in another fit of coughing. "Not….lot."

His arms were grabbed and he was hauled off his back, held while he tried to evict his esophagus. Though the hands on his arms were tight, he was allowed to hold his palm against his chest. He pulled his legs close, shifted his weight to one hip, swallowed, choked and was thumped on his back.

"Not alcohol." Trent sighed, gave him such a shake, his whole body flopped. "And I didn't ask what, I asked how much. Show me your tongue."

"Na'ow!" He whined with a wince, fell forward from a particularly hard thump, was held up by a firm grip. Once he could breathe, he waggled his tongue at Trent, hunched a shoulder to wipe spit from his chin with his shoulder, let Trent use the now dry cloth Paula had left with him earlier to wipe his mouth instead.

"That doesn't really help Jay." Trent scanned the room, saw the bottles on the dresser, left Jason holding Clay to go pick them up. "Cover your mouth, hey…you cough it up, you spit it out." He tossed the cloth towards the bed. Jason easily snagged it, crammed it into Clay's fist. "Use that."

"What's wrong with this tongue?" Paula dared to ask, went ignored.

"Makes me feel better." Jason retorted. "The hell Spenser, you texted me you had a fucking cold."

"Didn't." Clay insisted miserably. "Was…" cough, "Sleepin'….Becca." cough, "Uh...'plied...answer'd…."

"The fuck you doing in bed _now_?" Jason couldn't help himself, he just couldn't. His hand felt first Clay's forehead, then his cheek. "Jesus, he's burning up."

"Told to." Clay coughed, swallowed, was slapped behind his ear, groaned. "Ow. 'On't"

"Don't swallow." Trent retorted. "Sign of dehydration." He answered Paula.

That still didn't answer her question, and Paula started to say something, object, scold….but yeah, she didn't. This might be her home, but she didn't know these men and neither looked like they would take being reprimanded very well.

"You…didn't..say…that." Clay rasped hoarsely. "Said…ta….spit."

"Same damn thing Sherlock."

"Told to by who?" Jason demanded. "I told you to stay with Vic."

"Ass….shh."

Bottles in hand, Trent moved to stand next to the fire before he throttled the kid. The heat from the fire felt good, the scent of burning oak and the snapping crackle were appealing as well. "You're dehydrated, what's the number 1 rule when you're sick Spense?"

"Ummm...tell...you..."

Jason chuckled at the look to cross his medic's face as he fumed, jaw clenched so tight, a visible vain throbbed in his forehead. Paula expected him to grow red-faced and have a stroke – he didn't. Battle not to strike out lost, Trent bopped Clay atop his head. Paula winced at the sound of the smack...that had to smart. Jason moved him back by a hand to the chest.

"Your ole man?" He addressed Clay, tugged on a damp curl. "Hey," he snapped his fingers, "Talking to you. Since when do you listen to that asshat?"

"Rule number 2 then," Trent seethed. "Drink plenty of fluids. Remember that? I swear you dehydrate just by pissing."

"Yuh-huh." He coughed into the cloth in his fist. "...'Kay."

"Why are you taking Nyquil in the middle of the day?" He managed to ask once he had control of his temper. This night was not turning out as expected. They weren't supposed to lose Clay in a god-damn house. "You brought this with you, no Dayquil?"

"...'s what Beck bought. She…said…" He finally stopped coughing long enough to take a cup of water from Paula. "Tha…thanks." He sipped, coughed so hard his body shook, spilled the water. Jason took the cup. "...would...help me…sleep."

"Ash drive you here?" Jason asked as he waited for his rookie – for that is what Clay would always be to him – to stop coughing, expected to see a lung. "Hey!" He tapped his fingers under Clay's chin. "Talk to me."

"Don't swallow." Trent advised again. "Your head hurt? Spense? Hey, do you have a headache?"

"Yeah." He nodded, wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. "Needed….a ride…I'm gonna lie down, 'k?" But he didn't move. "Uh, no….head's not hurting." Paula winced at the deep cough that left him panting. "Ow."

"Use the towel." Trent ordered. "Yeah, no, don't think so. Where did you get this cough syrup?"

"Not from you?" Jason asked.

"No. Not Doc either. The label would be different, have his name…..Clay, did that twit from D.C. give you this?"

"Yuh-huh…..OW!" He reached for his abused ear being cruelly twisted by his boss. "Letgo!"

"Didn't we go through this with Stella?" Jason gave his head a shake by his grip on his ear. When it set Clay to coughing, he eased up, guided the hand with the cloth to his mouth when Trent again ordered him not to swallow. "Spit it out."

"Gonna let Sonny thrash you again. How many times 'til you get it?" Trent sighed. "You don't take medication given to you by people you don't know."

Still befuddled, his eyes widened. He stared for a moment, dropped the cloth, reached for the blankets. "Not a stranger….uh….dating her."

"For what, month or two? You don't know her." Jason scolded. "She's not on the list of people allowed to give you medicine."

Paula gulped, eyed the bag of items she had bought at the drugstore. Maybe she could sidle over, make it disappear.

"And you mixed medicines." Trent clucked his tongue. "Dumb ass. Gonna make you tread water with Vic."

Jason snorted. "Like Sonny won't go out in the middle of the night, get him back? Could catch him on camera in the act and he'd still deny it." He let go of Clay who laid down, dragged the blankets mostly over himself and after a second - or four - of wiggling and squirming, was once again, completely hidden under them.

"I just stood here and watched him do that, still have no idea how he did it."

"Hey, no." Jason tugged the blankets but Clay held firm from underneath, was dragged to the foot of the bed. "Come here, you little runt…hey…don't you…..Trent said...the hell you doing?"

"Tryin' to sleep." Clay moaned. Having lost the tug-of-war with the blankets, he sat up, blinking against the light that really wasn't all the bright. "Go 'way."

"Why did you even come?" Trent made the bottles disappear. "You belong home in bed."

"S'ere I wanna be. Didn't wanna come." He rubbed his eyes, pulled the blanket over his legs, tried to pull one end over and around his shoulders, sat cross-legged on the mattress. "Boss…made...me."

"Later." Jason warned, Trent smirked, but before the medic could say a word...…..

_Clump, thumb, ssssh, bang….._and Bravo barged in.

"Where is he?"

"You find him?"

"Janine said she saw him."

"Do I gotta kick his ass? Lemme kick his ass."

"What'd he do this time?"

"How's he do that? Looks like he's wearing a toga."

And behind the five men of Bravo, came…..

"Wow, nice room!"

"I love the fireplace."

"How charming!"

"Wow, that bed big enough? Where do you find sheets to fit it?"

"Bed? Heeeeyy! That's my bed! Pahl….lah!"

Both Jason and Trent glared at Janine who smiled and waved from the doorway. "What? You didn't want them up here, you should have been the one to go downstairs and tell them."

"RAY!" Jason growled.

"Really?" Trent accused, glared at Ray. "The women too?"

"They wanted to see the fireplace." Janine chirped. "Relax Trent, you're in Virginia with immediate access to medical care. Hell, all Blackburn has to do is make a phone call and you won't even have to wait in the ER."

"Really Paula? My room?" Pam whined. "You put him in my room?" She looked around, "In my bed? My bed? Why my bed?"

"You buy him anything?" Metal eyed Paula. "Make him _not_ cough all over my bed?" He added scornfully. "Dude, seriously, get outta my bed."

"Shut it." Jason warned, glared at the bed. While he'd been distracted watching everyone file into the room, Clay had once again laid down and disappeared under the blankets. He threw his hands up, turned to glare at Trent whose shit-eating grin made him clench his fist.

"Hey, I ain't the reason he's here." Metal shot back. "He is." He shoved Vic, who pushed back. Ray broke it up.

"Then you should have given him another place to lie down." Paula told him sternly, picked a pillow up from the floor, resisted the urge to throw it at him. "And he's not _in_ your bed, he's _on_ it."

"What we got Trent?" Katie asked, made her way to the medic's side. "Hey Clay, hi-ya. You under there somewhere?"

"Kate?" voice muffled, Clay's matted hair appeared. "Katie, I feel…awful," sneeze, cough, sniff, "…. like shit."

Trent fumed. Really? _Really_?! The little prick **_HID_** from him, responded to Katie? The hell was that shit?! "Then you should have stayed home in bed."

"Cough sounds pretty rough there Clay." Katie cooed. She'd been drinking coffee, but yeah, she'd had quite a bit to drink that night. "Trent's right, you should be home in bed."

"Wanted to...Boss…made me come." His forehead appeared, then his nose. "I….smell….chicken soup?"

"You're hungry?" Trent asked dubiously. "Really? You?"

"How come he reminds me of Sheldon?" Naima laughed.

Clay blinked, frowned. Why was Naima here? Why was everyone? Who was Sheldon? Did he know a Sheldon? He didn't think so.

"Okay, yeah…you know what? He's been found. Everyone out." Jason ordered. "Back downstairs, you're at a party."

He went ignored.

"I'll hang." Brock offered, stoking the fireplace. "Found him, yeah. Let him outta my sight? Not ready to do that yet." He added a log, replaced the screen, warmed his hands. "We'll babysit." Katie nodded, wrapped her arms around his waist, snuggled close.

"Just…wanna, sleep." Clay yawned, coughed. "Go 'way, lemme be."

"Thought you wanted soup?"

"Trent?" Jason indicated with his head for the medic to step aside.

"Check him out, give him meds, see if his fever comes down."

"That's it?"

"See Doc in the morning."

Jason pushed a hand through his hair. Clay's text has said he had a cold, wanted to stay home. He had not said he was sick. Jason had ordered him here and the kid had been so miserable, he'd called Ash a ride! And the asshole had actually driven him all the way out here. That told Jason, Ash had thought Clay to sick to drive.

"…ER tonight?" Someone was saying, or asking Trent who replied with, 'doubt it' followed by, 'we'll see'.

"….he ever mixes meds like that again…."

"Harmful?"

"Not to a normal person."

"I'm'omal." Clay slurred. The noise and activity in the room was giving him a headache. "My….soup?"

"Sit up." Katie took the bag from Paula who was holding it out, withdrew the cardboard container, accepted the spoon. "Smells wonderful." She pulled the plastic sleeve off the spoon, inserted, stirred. "Mini-mart, this is not. Look at those chunks of chicken!" She took a taste. "Mmmmm, homemade noodles too." With a hit and chop from the spoon, the chunks easily broke into smaller bits and she thoroughly shredded every piece. "Clay, hey there, sit up."

Swallowing without chewing would likely make him choke. Wouldn't Trent just love that! The look he'd give her would make her feel she should run hills, in full gear, on a hot day.

"No….crack…er." Clay batted his way out of the blankets, pulled his legs together, pushed with his heels until he was sitting up. Someone draped the afghan around his shoulders. He held his head between his hands, palms against his ears, chin to chest until he stopped coughing.

"You have something to give him for that?" Natalie asked – well, anyone.

"She brought crackers." Naima told him, ruffled his hair. He shook his head at the offer. "Want them crumbled?"

"Don't…want them…."

"Homemade?" Trent asked Paula, who nodded, told him Mrs. Manikowski owned the diner and was an excellent country cook. "Easy on the salt?" He frowned at Clay as Paula shrugged. She'd bought it, not made it, so she had no idea. "You don't want crackers? You? Hell Clay, there ain't a cracker you don't eat."

"Med bag?" Brock asked. "He doesn't want crackers, then his throat hurts."

Clay nodded, rubbed one eye with the back of his hand. "It does."

"You want some ice cream?" He was offered. "Milkshake?"

"No…want…something hot."

Hands grabbed hold of his arms, knees, ankles, dragged and lifted him back to the top of the bed where a multitude of pillows waited for him.

"Wait...you brought your medical kit?" Vic asked, Trent nodded. "Here?" Trent glared. "Your med bag?" Trent gave him a WTF look. "Field bag?" Trent bared his teeth. "Seriously though? Your field, med bag?" Trent moved, Ray stepped between them, forgot how fast Trent could move, stumbled against the dresser before regaining his balance. "I don't get..."

"Vic." Ray breathed. "Seriously dude, shut up before he throws you through the window."

"Or into the fireplace." Metal added.

"Through the window?" Pam echoed. "_Through_ it? Not...out it?"

"He ain't gonna take the time to open it."

Pam squeaked.

"Don't leave home without it." Janine quipped, breaking the tension. "Have to have a trunk big enough for the stroller and his med bag."

"Metal, be useful, go get it." Trent ordered.

"You don't give the orders around here."

"I do." Jason barked. "You know your way around this house. Go get his bag."

So, Paula noted as Metal tossed out a mild threat, stomped away, there was someone who could make Metal do something he didn't want to do. Or thought it wasn't his chore to do. Interesting.

"….not too hot." Katie was saying, sitting on the bed next to Clay. "You sure you want this? What are you…..oh…hey…no…don't drink, use the spoon….okay then." She let him clasp the container with both hands, guided it from the bottom when he raised it to his lips. "Sips Clay….small sips….smaller." She used a napkin to catch what he dribbled down his chin. "Chew…you have to," she scolded gently when he muffed 'no' at her. "They're noodles, so chew." She rolled her eyes, sighed when he asked why he had to. "Because I said so."

He peered at her over the rim of the container that was against the bridge of his nose, pulled a pout, drank some more – made an obnoxious gesture of chewing. His smug attempt at poking fun at her was disrupted by a bout of coughing so violent, she took the soup away from him before he spilled it.

He uncurled his legs, soup forgotten, disappeared among the pillows that had been fluffed and stacked for him, exhausted.

"I've….cough syrup…" He fought the fluff, went up on one shoulder, looked around. "Gimme."

"No."

Clay blinked, twisted to see who had dared denied him what he wanted – Trent. Figured.

"Why?" Was all he could say. "It...helps."

"Because I don't know what it is."

"Pre….script….schun."

"Whose?"

"Uh." He coughed into his shoulder. "Dunno." He collapsed back into the pillows, pulled the fringe on the ends of the afghan together, shivered. "I'm cold."

"Uh-huh." Trent dismissed him, but Katie shook out the comforter, tucked it around him.

"Better?" She asked. "More soup? No, ok. Can I get you anything else?"

"Cold cloth?" He asked heavily, palm splayed over his chest. "It's hot….I'm…hot...why's'it hot?"

"I've got it." Paula told Naima when she looked questioningly, motioned. "Bathroom, linen closet."

"Jesus Trent, you've spoiled him." Sonny sputtered. "Lookit him!"

"Say that again?"

"You have him all tucked up in a big ole comfy bed with a cozy fire and fluffy pillows." Sonny complained. "Soup, cold cloths." He dumped the contents of the bag Paula had set on the dresser. "Vicks Vapo Rub. Cough drops. Delsym."

"I've spoiled him?" Trent managed to get out. "_Me_? You sure about that?"

"Thinking maybe you have Trent confused with Paula there." Ray grinned.

Blue eyes were visible over the edge of the comforter Clay had tucked up to his chin. With damp curls on his forehead, flushed cheeks and wheezy breathing, he looked utterly miserable.

Naima handed Katie the jar of Vapo Rub, helped her convince Clay to relinquish his grip on the comforter, patted the sweat from his forehead and cheeks with a cool cloth while Katie rubbed the medication on his chest.

"You sing Soft Kitty, I'm outta here." Sonny warned. The girls giggled, ignored him. "Why they all gotta coo over him? I don't get it?"

"Why can't he have the cough syrup?" Vic spoke up.

"Codeine."

"It's a narcotic."

"You know that, right?"

"Yeah, but he wasn't coughing like this earlier." Vic argued. "It musta helped him."

"You had him, how long? What? Ten minutes?"

Sonny coughed, waved a hand. "I get a cold, you all drag my ass outta bed, drive me half way across the state and make me paddle a rubber boat upstream in the dark, pouring rain, raging current in a flood to find…" he paused for dramatic effect, pointed a finger at the bed. "…him."

"If I recall, you did very little paddling."

"Yeah, you did more complaining than paddling."

"No one tucked me all up comfy-cozy in bed, waited on me."

"You didn't have a 104 fever."

"Neither did he! _I_ was sick." Sonny reminded everyone. "_He_ threw a reaction to a shot."

"Second time he did that."

"We know better now."

"He was helping rescue stranded citizens from a flood, nearly drowned."

Sonny scoffed. "You make it sound like they were all crippled, wheel-chair bound old geezers on oxygen."

"Here you go." Naima said, folded the cold, wet cloth oblong. "This feel good?" She laid it across Clay's forehead. He raised a hand to press if firmly against his hot skin, murmured a slurred thanks, went limp against the pillows.

He was tired. There was too much activity, too much noise, too many people and he wanted everyone to go away and leave him alone. And he didn't like all these damn pillows. They were too soft and he sank among them. Everyone needed to leave so no one would see him try and fight his way out of them.

But no.

Jason ordered the women out, Pam included. Paula didn't annoy him and it was her house, so he simply ignored her. Metal and Vic, who he was pissed at, were sent away with the women, but the rest of Bravo was allowed to remain.

Well, shit.

Something heavy was plopped next to his hip, made the mattress dip sharply to the right and he rolled. He was grabbed, held, pulled left, settled once again among the abundance of pillows.

He squirmed uneasily, wanting his solitude and silence, save the snap, crackle, pop of the fire, but was told to shush and stay still.

The comfy, warm blankets were gone. He lost the tug-of-war to keep the afghan around his shoulders. The pillows disappeared and he was pushed flat onto his back. Fingers pressed and palpated behind his ears, under his chin, along his neck, across this throat. His hoodie was unzipped, his t-shirt lifted and despite the warmth in the room, his skin goose-bumped and he shivered. Hands went up his rib cage, warm yet cold to his hot skin, felt his arm pits, made him arch his back, came across his shoulders and down his sides, crossed over his belly, unbuckled his belt.

"Your crotch hurt?"

Startled, Clay blinked then stared wide-eyed. Thought about it, slowly knocked Trent's hand away.

"No."

Trent didn't push. Though there was slight swelling in his lymph nodes either side of his neck and under his jaw, Clay hadn't so much as flinched when he'd pressed against them, so he gave his knee a friendly pat, let it go.

"What's that mean?"

Trent shrugged. "Slight swelling in his glands."

"And…that means, what?"

"Strep, mono, tonsillitis, bad cold, bronchitis, pneumonia, some kind of infection." He opened a flap. "Rare cases, swelling can be caused by medication."

"Rare? It's _Clay_."

Paula eyed the backpack she doubted she could lift, let alone hoist onto her back, but seated in the recliner near the fire, she remained silent. There were numerous pockets, flaps, zippers, clasps and snaps and not only the medic knew what was in every spot...they all did. Because whatever he wanted or asked for, was handed to him.

Was that….it was! It was a stethoscope. Oh, right. Medic.

Clay was told to sit up, hands reached to help him. He flinched when the cold bit of metal touched his skin. He was told to breathe deep, cough, blow his breath out, hold his breath, breathe deep. The stethoscope moved to his back and the process was repeated.

"Chest hurt?"

Clay nodded, shrugged, shook his head.

"Does it hurt to breathe?" Trent continued. "No? Cough? Any nausea? Vomiting?"

"No." Clay muttered weakly.

"Pneumonia?" Sonny asked.

"Can't tell without an x-ray."

"You just listened to his lungs."

Trent shrugged.

"Bronchitis?"

"Not likely."

"So, pneumonia?"

"Walking maybe." Trent asked for and was handed a thermometer. She'd never seen such a model before, doubted it had come from the corner Walgreen's, watched him press it against the middle of Clay's forehead, pause, then roll it to his temple.

"100.7" A twenty hit the nightstand.

"101.3." Another twenty.

"100.2" Two tens.

"102." A fifty hit the pile and a twenty and a ten was removed.

Really? They were placing bets on a man's temperature? Paula shook her head. Men.

"103.2" Trent announced. Jason pocketed the money.

Ray whistled, shook his head. "Higher than I wudda thought."

"Ibuprofen will bring it down."

"Remember the last time he ran a high fever? He tried to shoot Summer."

"Don't blame him."

"Wasn't that high."

"That hippie wudda deserved it."

"Still dunno where he got that gun from."

"But he had a fever."

Paula played with the frilly fringe on the decorative pillow in her lap. Guns? Shooting?

"Remember that time Seth broke his leg? We got that goober, Leonard…."

"Lance."

"….kid ran a high fever…."

"No fever."

"….we had to give him a bath…."

"We?"

"Don't recall you being there Son."

"…..cool him down….."

"Just a precaution."

"…..Clay didn't recognize him, tried to shoot him."

"He ran a fever when he was trapped in that building with whatshisname…"

"Wes, and that was because the dumb ass was stabbed in the leg and ignored it."

"Did not." Clay protested, squirmed. "Wanna go'leep."

"Not yet." Trent palmed his forehead. "Need you to open wide as you can, say aah."

"Don't wanna."

"Hard to believe, he'll blow your head of 'n-won't bat an eye, but whines like a two-year old when he doesn't want to do something."

Trent held Clay's chin, nudged his lips with a tongue depressor, wedged his finger between his teeth, pried his jaw open with little trouble, held his tongue down, flashed a light.

"What ya see? You see anything? What can you tell? Strep? Tonsils? Tell me."

"Sonny, back off."

Paula and Pam were as close as sisters could possibly be. Metal and Pam had been on and off since Paula's kids had been born and he was just….well, her stone-faced, goofy, common-law, brother-in-law.

He'd been in the Navy when she first met him, was away a lot and when he was home, he was always training, running, lifting, working out. She'd seen him at the beach and in the pool, the man was built. And while these men were fully clothed, the chest and belly on the man in the bed were exposed. Six pack abs indeed.

She swallowed, the taste in her mouth suddenly sour. Navy, military, whatever, she'd just…. never let herself imagine he killed people.

"Can you swallow these?" Trent shook a bottle of ibuprofen. Clay, who had slumped against Jason's arm, usually roused to the sound but he didn't even roll his head. "Liquid Tylenol, you prefer?"

Clay just wanted to be left alone. Wanted everyone to go away. He was hot and miserable and he didn't feel well and…..eewww, he hated the taste of liquid Tylenol. Add it to a shot of JD, maybe he could drink it.

He pulled his t-shirt down, fumbled with the zipper on his hoodie, gave up when his hands were slapped.

"Keep it up, you'll get a shot." Trent warned when Clay snarled, curled a lip, slapped back. "And you won't like where I stick the needle."

Clay stared, his eyebrows met. Trent would give him a shot when and where he wanted to, regardless of what Clay said or preferred or wanted.

"What we doing?" Jason asked, stopped Clay from laying down. Trent offered him three ibuprofen with the cup of orange juice Paula had carried up, watched Clay swallow them, seemed satisfied, handed him another pill. "Antibiotic?"

"Yup. Gonna let him sleep, give the meds time to kick in."

"So, no ER?"

Jason finally let him lay down, was covered by the afghan and comforter, snuggled into the warmth, plopped his head thankfully, on only one pillow. He didn't want the others back either.

"Nah." Trent was putting shit back into pockets and flaps. "Not tonight. I have antibiotics, his fever should respond, come down within an hour. Congestion in his chest is lose, he can cough it up."

"Swollen glands?"

"Uh, antibiotics?" Trent reminded everyone. "Take him to Doc tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? What about tonight?"

"Any of us fit to drive home?" Trent asked. Silence. "So, couple hours then, right? Soon as we've had something to eat, more coffee and the meds have had time to bring his fever down, we'll head home. 'Til then, let him sleep."

"Send Katie up, we'll keep an eye on him." Brock told Ray.

"You just wanna snuggle in front of the fire." Sonny accused.

"Something wrong with that?"

Trent picked up the box of Delsym, opened it, removed the bottle.

"You don't have cough syrup in that bag?"

"I do, trying to keep him off strong meds." That made no sense to anyone but Trent, but no one questioned him. He removed the protective wrapping on the bottle, waggled it. "This will work, thin the mucus, easier to cough up."

"Yeah, but will he stop coughing?"

"Who's the medic here Sonny?" Trent countered. "You? Or me?"

"Hey, I know first aid."

"Should we take him to the ER before we head home."

"No. I want him to sleep, see if his fever comes down."

"If it does?"

"We'll take him home."

"If it doesn't?"

"Jesus, this isn't the first time he's been sick." Trent huffed. "If his fever goes up, if the congestion doesn't break up in a couple hours, we'll call Blackburn, take him to the ER, get a chest x-ray but I really don't think it's going to come to that." He took the bowl of ice, went into the bathroom, added warm water. "He sweats, cool him down, help break the fever." He told Brock who nodded, slung the backpack over one shoulder.

"Cold cloth?" Clay asked, grunted when one was slapped across his forehead. "Ugh...'thanks, guess."

Paula collected the soup container, the bag it had come in, what trash Trent had made. "He's more than welcome to the room." She said. "The house has plenty of other bedrooms if Pam and Metal want to go to bed. No need to make him move."

"Her, I like." Sonny announced.

"I'll send Katie up. Need me, call me, but I'll be back in an hour." Trent told Brock, handed him the bottle of syrup. "Few sips whenever he wants it, don't let him guzzle it. Doubt he'll want to drink much water, but if you can get him to, great."

"Aye-aye, sir." Brock clicked his heels, saluted him.

By the time everyone except Brock had filed out, Clay was stirring. Paula lingered by the door, waiting to see if she would be needed for anything, but Brock sat down on the bed, murmured quietly, patted a knee through the blankets and Clay settled down, went back to sleep.

Within a minute, Katie was there, picked up the bowl of lukewarm water, sat down on the bed opposite Brock and Paula went on her way. Clay was in the capable hands of his friends, he'd be fine.

()

"...Before scarves were a fashion accessory…" Trent was saying as he pulled and tugged and wrapped and tucked the strip of yarn around Clay's throat and neck. "…made of silk and fringe, they served a purpose." Clay swore the yarn scarf was longer than he was tall but yeah, Trent wouldn't appreciate the observation. Trent had it wrapped snuggly, but not tightly, twice around his throat and was zipping his coat over the rest that covered his chest. "In weather like this, keep your head, throat and chest covered." And a hat was pulled over his ears.

"Your mom knit these?" Clay snarked sarcastically. The yarn was soft, not itchy, but Trent was being ridiculous.

"Crocheted." Trent corrected. "And yes."

"Bit over the top, don't you think?" Clay asked even though he'd stood there and let the medic dress him to go outside like he was five.

"I dunno Clay, you tell me." Trent shot him a dark look that just dared him to argue. "I'm not walking around with pneumonia. I've never even had bronchitis."

Clay huffed, rolled his eyes. "I have a cold, you dickwad, not bronchitis, not pneumonia, you said so….it's a fucking cold."

"Where's Rebecca?" Trent asked.

The abrupt change in subject had Clay was instantly on guard. "Why?"

"Few things I'd like to say to her."

"No." Clay pushed through the wall of protective teammates, started down steps, realized he had nowhere to go, turned in a circle with curse. "Anyone call Ash to come get me?"

"I called him." Ray stepped forward. "To tell him you had a ride home, you were no longer his concern."

"We've got you." Katie said easily. "You get to stay with us for a few days."

"What? Why?" He rubbed his hands together. "No."

"Cause Sonny gets a cold, he paddles a boat, up river, against strong current to retrieve your ass. You get a cold, you go missing at a fucking house party."

"Get in the car." Brock teased. "Staying with me ain't all that bad, is it? You can stay with Sonny, you want."

Clay got in the car.

He settled into the back seat, pulled the blanket on the seat across his lap, snuggled into the depths of his coat, got comfortable. The car was idling, the interior warm and combined with the medication Trent had given him, he was soon asleep.

***END***


End file.
